


One Hot Mess

by orphan_account



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Romance, Anna is an oblivious fool, Brain Surgery, Elsa is an emotionally constipated ass, F/F, F/M, Friendzone, Medicine, Romance, Surgery, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The one time you choose to have random sex, the first and only time you let yourself go crazy and sleep with a girl, she ends up biting you in the ass - both literally and figuratively,' thought Elsa sardonically. </p><p>This was turning to be a horrible, no good, very bad day - and the prognosis wasn't good. </p><p>Modern AU/Medical AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One Hot Mess

* * *

_**Hot Mess** :When ones thoughts or appearance are in a state of disarray but they maintain an undeniable attractiveness or beauty._

Urban Dictionary

* * *

_Whoever fights monsters should take care that they in the process do not become a monster. And when you gaze long in the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you._

Friedrich Nietzsche, "Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 146"

* * *

_"RT Staff on duty... Proceed to... for ABG... "_

There is always that moment in the seconds after the disembodied voice has paged for STAT Arterial Blood Gas in the Emergency Room when your hearing becomes heightened and adrenaline starts to pump, because half the time, the follow-up to that page is 'Code Blue at Emergency Room'.

For most people, Mondays were hell. For Doctor Anna Summers, first year General Surgery Resident and still everybody's favorite scut monkey - every day was a look into the abyss. On some days, she could feel the abyss looking back, taunting her.

Interns and Residents have an almost Pavlovian response to the crackle of the PA. Some have sweaty palms, most have accelerated heart rates, both adrenaline induced responses enabling them to spring into action immediately. During her year as an intern, first in line to respond and often relegated to doing chest compressions, Anna had quickly learned to discern the meanings behind the Code colors, with Blue - signifying cardio respiratory arrest - being most common. The rest of the time, she spent it doing scut work; the menial tasks relegated to the lowest member of the Surgical food chain. Even now after having passed her intern's exams and therefore now a full fledged Resident, she still could not shake the ingrained feeling of having to drop everything and answer all codes.

She rubbed at tired eyes, trying to make sense of the orders written by the previous shift's doctors on the sheet in front of her. The words blurred into each other, line after line of chicken scratch made unintelligible by sleep deprivation. Upon hearing the page, her heartbeat began to speed up and she stood. Anna sighed as she stretched, enjoying the little cracks and pops as her body arched. "Further proof I'm still alive," she said wryly to no one in particular.

Grabbing her stethoscope, she nudged the sleeper snoring on a stack of charts. The shaggy head of dark blonde hair jerked upwards and turned to face her. Rheumy eyes blinked back the last vestiges of sleep. "Stat ABG at the ER. You know what that means."

The owner of the shaggy head groaned. "Shit. I hope they don't code."

"Fat chance. We aren't Team Lucky. If you've got to check for blood gas, it's bound to be a croaker."

Another groan, followed by a snort. "True that. Hope you're wrong this time, though. I need a break."

"Don't we all? Gonna get me some coffee. You want some?" offered Anna as she shrugged into her white coat.

"You buying?"

"Maybe. C'mon, Bjorgman, make up your mind, I'm dying here."

"It's vending machine coffee, Summers. Choices are pretty much between take it or leave it. Same cheap swill, different cup."

"That cheap shit is still coffee! How dare you mock the nectar of the gods?"

"Say that to me again when the acid's eaten through your stomach lining. Your ulcer will say to you, 'I wish I had been caused by better coffee'" parried Kristoff Bjorgman with a grin.

"Whatevs," said Anna, walking away.

"I'll take a mocha if they've got it," Kristoff called out.

"Effin' lightweight. Bitter and black is the only way to go," yelled Anna over her shoulder, taking brisk steps towards the elevators.

Around her, the surgical wing of the Maryland Misericordia Hospital was slowly coming alive. Nurses frantically scribbling down notes and jotting down orders. Others were filling up medication sheets, readying for shift turnover. Aides and orderlies wheeling stretchers and equipment into place. Preparing for the morning rush. Anna Summers cut through the fray, making a beeline for the vending machine, the beeps and clicks of monitors and machinery underscoring the hubbub of the shift-turnover rush.

She slipped a couple of quarters into the coin slot, hearing the telltale click of gears falling into place. From within the machine, the faint rumble of coffee percolating, preparing to be spewed into a too-small cup. Anna reached for the steamy brew, inhaling the comforting smell, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. She punched in an order for a mocha, closed her eyes and sipped quietly at her own drink. For the millionth time in the past six months she asked herself what exactly she was doing here, with her life, with these people. If she had even made the right decision.

A little voice inside her head murmured,  _'Happiness is not a fish that you can catch, Anna. You gotta make the decision to let yourself be happy, and you do it.'_  It sounded suspiciously like Olaf Snow, Psych Resident extraordinaire and her personal pocket of sunshine. Olaf, who was currently admitted in the Medical Wing after some drunken asshole brained him in a bar fight. She gritted her teeth, recalling one of the last conversations she had with him before the attack. He had looked so happy, being able to sit underneath the sun with her - his best friend - away from the pressures and literal insanity of the Psych wards.

Residency had turned them all into walking corpses fueled on most days only by a potent mix of caffeine and adrenaline. Olaf, the most chipper of their motley group of five was perhaps the only exception. Three days ago his boyish smile was infectious, uplifting tired spirits. Their laughter hung in the air with the easy camaraderie of they who have known the hell of death and disease yet willingly walked arm in arm into it every day.

She looked at her reflection in the smudged glass of the vending machine and assessed herself with the critical eye borne of a lifetime of familiarity with one's own features. An image of a young woman, passably pretty, stared back at her with slightly glazed eyes. Freckles were spattered across her nose and cheeks, standing out on skin made pale by the prolonged absence of sun.

A sudden memory, unbidden, had her clenching her thighs inadvertently.

Flashes of Friday night danced on the periphery of her consciousness. Of skin against skin, of hot lips enveloping yearning peaks. Long, cool, fingers sliding over heated skin, dipping lower still. An erotic strobe light illuminating the edges of a memory - of an icy, remote presence who made her  _feel_  things. Feel emotions and sensations she hadn't felt in years.  _Yeah, that made for one helluva night._  In the morning, the woman - whoever she was - had gone with nary a trace. If it weren't for the pleasant ache between her thighs and the languorous wellbeing felt only by the thoroughly, fantastically fucked, Anna would have chalked the entire thing up to a dream. A pleasant, X-rated dream. However, the raging hangover the next day and bite marks on her collarbone and inner thighs suggested otherwise.

Shaking off those thoughts, Anna trudged back to the station and handed Kristoff his drink. The big man took it gratefully and sipped, a sigh of pleasure making its way out of his mouth. "Fuel for the fading fire, Summers. Thanks," he said, setting the cup down and reaching for a chart. "You hear about the new Neuro Attending?"

"Huh," murmured Anna distractedly quickly scanning the remaining charts to see if she missed any labs and follow ups. Post-op scut was a pain in the ass at the close of a 24 hour shift. The rapid scramble to make sure Attendings were updated, and all the patients had their labs attached to chart prior to turning over their care to the incoming duty.  _What am I doing with my life?_  "Not really. What about?"

"Some sort of Neurosurgical wunderkind apparently. Legend up at Columbia Presbyterian."

"Eh." Anna went back to her charts. Mr. Fowler had already completed his fifth day of Azithromycin, breath sounds were clear, afebrile for the past 36 hours. Possible discharge after Attending's rounds. "What's she doing here, then?"

"Change of scenery, maybe?"

"Yes, because Maryland is also otherwise known as the Scenic State," drawled Anna, setting aside Mr. Fowler's chart and perusing another. Mr. Banks. Fourth hospital day, second day post-open cholecystectomy. Clinically stable but complained of lower extremity weakness last night. Serum electrolyte results pending. Anna made a mental note to follow up on his labs. Kristoff was still yammering away.

"I hear she's supposed to be hot," persisted Kristoff. "Blonde with blue eyes and legs that go on forever."

"Really? All of this you happen to have just heard?

"Alright, she's indescribably hot. I saw her once, and I'm telling you, that face would launch way more than a thousand ships. And those legs. My god, those legs..."

Anne sighed. "Dude, really. I'm trying to work here." Kristoff gave her an injured look.

"Hey, listen, Anna, I know that it's been -" his reply was drowned out by the crackle of the PA coming alive.

" _Attention all units!"_  Around the floor heads popped up like meerkats as residents, interns, and students stopped mid-task and listened, the expression on most faces was attentive. Others looked more apprehensive. " _Code blue in room two-fourteen! Code blue in room two-fourteen!"_

Anna went very, very, still. As did Kristoff.

"Hey, two-fourteen... Isn't that-?" said Kristoff. Their eyes met, and widened. All sluggishness erased by the sudden pounding of their hearts. Anna thought she could hear a whooshing sound in her ear.

She gulped down the last few mouthfuls of her coffee and took off at a run, Kristoff following close behind. A linebacker during his college days, Dr. Kristoff Bjorgman made for an imposing figure. His speeding presence parted crowds like the Red Sea, people scrambling to get out of the way of his broad-shouldered bulk.

The squeak of rubber soles against slippery tile in beat a staccato rhythm as she bolted down the hall, dodging early visitors and hospital personnel alike. Ducking into the dusty stairwell, she took the steps down two at a time, jumping the last three to push open yet another door leading to another aseptically white hallway, continuing her madcap dash to Olaf Snow's room.

* * *

The door at the end of the hall was open - from inside, the sound of a code in full swing. A crush of medical and nursing staff obscured the limp figure lying in their midst.

"What the hell happened?" demanded Anna, rounding the foot of the bed to stand near the monitors at the headboard. She glanced at the vitals flashing onscreen. Bradycardia, blood pressure of 170/110, irregular respiration. O2 saturation at 88%. The relentless wailing of monitors rang in her ears.

"He just... seized, doctor Summers," an intern offered, rapidly flipping through Olaf's chart. "We were doing our morning rounds when he had a generalized seizure. Ariel here was able to intubate," he gestured towards a slight redhead with a greenish stain on her scrubs. "We were about to check for placement -" Anna gently set the diaphragm of her stethoscope on Olaf's thin chest as the intern, Ariel, attached the other end to an Ambu bag and squeezed. Left, right. Clear breath sounds bilaterally. Symmetric chest expansion. The tube was in place. Things were looking up. O2 saturation increased to 91%.

Anna grabbed a penlight from the crash cart, shone it into Olaf's eyes. His left pupil was fixed and dilated, the iris a thin blue rim surrounding it.

She felt her blood turn to ice water in her veins. She flashed his other eye, noting how it responded to the sudden brightness. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, his left pupil's blown," she said, more to herself than anyone else. Looking up, she yelled. "Someone page Neuro! We've got a bleed!" Anna looked around, searching for Kristoff. His hulking presence her comfort.

"Bjorgman, page Belle, ask her to check with Merida if we've got an Operating Room vacant or available for On-Call. STAT cranial CT, inform Radiology, tell them we've got a traumatic brain injury. Make sure Marsh knows where we're going. Someone insert a tube so he doesn't choke, for godssakes. Get a mouth guard in there too."

"On it, Anna," said Kristoff, with reassuring calm. Always dependable, her rock in the ever-changing sea. The team sprang into action, transferring IV lines, hooking the BVM to a portable oxygen tank, mobilizing for transport. Kristoff unlocked the bed brakes with a stomp and pushed Olaf out into the hallway, the interns carrying his peripherals trailing behind, jogging to keep up the pace.

Anna ran alongside, one hand on the railing, the other punching a familiar number into her cellphone. Merida DunBroch, Anesthesiology Resident on duty picking up on the third ring. "Mer, did Belle get through? Olaf's got a bleed. Subdural by the looks of it. We're taking him down to Radio now. Have an OR prepped with a team on standby, we've paged Neuro for a consult. I don't care who you have to piss off to get Olaf scheduled, just do it." She cast a worried look at the slight man they were transporting, dark brown hair in eternal disarray, cowlicks all over the place, skin unnaturally pale against the white bedspread.

"Hang on, Olaf," she whispered.

Though she hadn't done so in a very long time, Anna prayed.

* * *

The Radiology department was located deep down in the bowels of the Misericordia. There was an unnatural stillness in the recycled air. Most of the time the only sound heard was the humming of equipment and machinery and the low drone of the air-conditioner, keeping the temperature at a constant, sub-Arctic level. Anna pulled her coat tighter around herself, hands tucked in her armpits in a futile effort to warm the frozen digits.

She looked out through the glass partition to where Olaf lay, head ensconced in the CT Scan machine, Kristoff industriously squeezing the BVM in evenly-timed cycles, keeping his lungs inflated and forcing oxygen into his body. Anna hoped he wasn't as cold as she felt.

"Anna," a low rumble from above, the voice of a veritable giant of a man, towering over. "Prints are here." A rustle of film being mounted onto the viewing boards.

"What have we got, Marsh?" said Anna tiredly, keeping her gaze averted. Afraid to look up, afraid of what she would find in the black and white truth of the cranial imagery.

"Subdural bleed with an intracerebral component," said Dr. John 'Marshmallow' Marshman, Chief Resident of the Department of Surgery waving a meaty hand over the CT slices of Olaf's brain, pointing out a crescent shaped lesion with darkened areas of hemorrhage. "It's pressing against the left optic nerve."

Anna closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath, steeling herself for all the possible implications. She had to tell his grandmother. Nana would have to know.  _Oh god, Nana._  A wave of nausea rose up her throat at the thought of telling the still sprightly ninety-six year old her beloved boy might never wake up. Nana, who had singlehandedly raised Olaf after his parents' death and - later on, Anna when her dad ran off with his gym instructor, leaving her behind with a barely functioning alcoholic of a mother. Behind her, a door slid open followed by the sharp click of heels at a clipped pace.

"I came as soon as I saw your page, Marsh," a woman's voice, well modulated with the inflections of affluence.

Anna turned towards the speaker and saw the silhouette of a slender figure, backlit by the harsh fluorescent glow from the hallway. Light blonde hair plaited in a single braid hung over the figure's left shoulder, terminating above the pocket of her coat.

Anna squinted to get a better look at the name embroidered on the woman's starched white coat: Elsa Arendelle, M.D. and underneath it, in red stitching; Department of Neurological Surgery.

"Elsa," said Marshmallow, the faintest flicker of relief arcing across his grim features. "Got something to kick off your manic Monday." The figure inclined her head in acknowledgement, walking into the viewing room.

"What am I looking at, Marsh?"

Marshmallow moved closer to the illuminated viewing board, and gave a brief rundown of Olaf's history. "Thirty-two year old Caucasian male, traumatic brain injury secondary to mauling. Third hospital day. Was lucid up until this morning when he had a generalized tonic-clonic seizure followed by hypertension, bradycardia, and respiratory depression."

Elsa took several steps towards the films, pulled the last series off the viewing board and held it up to get a better look.

"Subdural bleed. Probably bridging veins. You can see where it has crossed the suture lines. Ventricles are deviated towards the right, median shift, clearly. It's what's causing your compression symptoms. We have to go in and evacuate. Someone book an OR?"

"All prepped with a team ready. Merida DunBroch's on standby. Anna here called them," Marshmallow replied.

"Did she now," said Arendelle, finally turning to look at her. Anna had the faint impression of dark eyes and high cheekbones in the dim glow of the monitors. "Sure enough to schedule an OR without a CT?"

"Snark all you want, but she called it on history and physical examination, Elsa. It was good medicine. You would do it in a heartbeat."

Dr. Arendelle made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "Perhaps. But you know when it comes to diagnoses of intracranial bleeds CT is definitive."  _Bitch_ , thought Anna.

"She called it. Give the kid a break."

"If you say so, Marsh. Good job, Annie -" Arendelle trailed off, distracted by her phone.

Anna felt her cheeks grow hot. How could Arendelle even be texting at a time like this? The silence stretched on, compelling her to say something just to fill in the space. "Actually, it's Anna. Anna Summers. General Surgery."

"General Surgery? What were you doing in the Medical Wing, then?" Anna could feel Arendelle's gaze boring into her. Damn her.  _Move into the light where you can look me in the eye while you insult me, damn you._

"Olaf's my friend. Bjorgman and I heard the page and we couldn't not go. And it's a good job we did. Internal Medicine wasn't doing much - if anything - for him. They were perfectly happy with the clearance from Trauma Surgery and the initial CT when everybody knows that subdural bleeds could take days, even weeks to show up."  _Oh. My. God. Verbal diarrhea, Anna. What in the actual fuck?_  Inside, Anna's sense of self preservation was screaming for her to cease and desist but a rage demon had gotten hold of her tongue, whipping it onwards. "I mean, what were we supposed to do? Wait for him to stroke out? Wait around for the interns to kill him?"  _How about you kill yourself now, Summers? Just. Kill yourself._

"You underestimate your interns and have an overly inflated sense of self if that's how you think, Summers," was all Elsa Arendelle said, arching a delicate brow. "That rousing little speech was hardly necessary. Inform his family, get him prepped, and let the OR know I'm on my way." With that, she turned and walked out the door. Anna hadn't even gotten a good look at this person, this woman who would be opening her best friend up.  _Drilling a hole into his cranium. Saving his life._  She shook her head, gathering muddled wits together, and followed Arendelle into the hall.  _You're an idiot, Summers._

"Hey, wait," called Anna at the Neurosurgeon's retreating back. "You're doing a craniotomy now?"

" _Craniectomy_ ," the blonde corrected. "Just drilling the holes isn't going to work, we need more room."

Anna blinked. "You're opening him up..."

"Yes." Arendelle replied without further elaboration, not even breaking her stride.

"I'm scrubbing in, then!"

The figure stilled at the end of the hall, right before pushing open the double doors. "No you're not. You can see him in, but get someone who isn't emotionally invested to assist," said Elsa Arendelle, her tone firm, without turning around. A voice that brooked no argument.

"Emotionally invested my ass! You can't just tell me I can't-" protested Anna, but the doors had already swung shut. "Motherfucker!" she swore, slapping her palms against the wall, anger making her vision blur. She felt a hand on her back and spun around, ready to verbally eviscerate the miscreant. "You get your hands off me you fu-"

Marshmallow stood quietly, an enormous golem in the hall, his expression one of stone. "Marsh. I - I'm sorry," she offered lamely. "I don't know what came over me."

"You're tired. You should get some rest. Being a brat is your release. Happens to the best of us," he shrugged.

"Stop trying to make me feel better, Marsh. I was a total shit and you know it. Hell, Dr. Arendelle knows it. I'm sorry." Anna slumped, all fight gone out of her. This really had been the most exhausting shift.

"Don't you worry about Olaf, Anna," said Marshmallow, once more placing a huge hand on her shoulder, his gruff voice lower than usual. "Elsa's the best at what she does. Zero interpersonal skills, but the best. Olaf couldn't ask for better." With that pronouncement, he turned and left her alone.

Anna leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the scarred linoleum tiles, hugging her knees close to her chest.  _What am I doing with my life?_

* * *

_Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let it show._

_Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let them know._

Doctor Elsa Arendelle, Maryland Misericordia's newest Staff Attending in Neurosurgery was having a minor breakdown as she stood at the sink, scrubbing up.

_You didn't know. How were you supposed to know?_

_Who would have thought that a random girl in a bar would turn out to be a doctor. A Resident, at that. A_ Surgical _Resident at the same hospital you now work at and therefore under_ your _supervision._

She scrubbed at her fingers, the back of her hands, her palms with almost vicious force, as if the vigor could wash away her sins and remorse.

_You've done a lot of less than kosher things in your life, Arendelle, but this one is pretty special. Being passive in the face of injustice makes you an accomplice._

The shock of seeing a familiar face on the stretcher being wheeled into the OR had been jarring. Beneath the bruising and bandages it was him. The guy from that bar. Just this morning she had briefly wondered what happened to the David and Goliath throw down waiting to happen last Friday.

_Now you know._

On the way to being well and truly drunk that night, she had been too engrossed in Summers to care about the fight brewing in the corner. All her alcohol soaked brain cells could focus on was getting this girl, this odd, charmingly awkward, interesting girl alone. She had seen the skinny goof being backed against a wall by a hulking troglodyte with dubious hygienic practices. She knew the squirt was about to get the pounding of his life. It would have been a good time to say something.

She got the hell out of there fast. Anna Summers looked restless, ready to pounce and for reasons still unknown to her, she felt the same.

_Bullshit. She was hot, and you were interested. Does this mean you like women now?_

She let Summers drag her out of the bar and pin her against a parked car. Summers kissed like she meant it, infusing each movement of her lips with the longing she must have felt inside - a mirror of Elsa's own desire. She had her hands buried in Summers' hair, tasting alcohol and the faintest hint of chocolate in the redhead's kiss. Summers' hands were on her ass and she could feel the edge of a door handle digging into her back. There was a vague memory of catcalls and appreciative male voices egging the show on. That promptly brought them crashing down to earth. Too drunk to care, Anna had flipped the men off and walked to the street to hail a passing cab. As she was dragged into the back seat by grasping hands, she had one last glimpse through the bar window, and saw Olaf Snow hauled up against the wall, unable to hold his own against a man easily twice his weight and size.

_You let it happen because it didn't concern you. Guess what, genius, now it does. Your one night stand's boyfriend got trashed then thrashed while you were off diddling his girl. You've sunk to new depths with this one, Arendelle. Won't your father be proud?_

She brushed at her arms up to the elbows in practiced motions, muscle memory borne out of nearly a decade of doing the exact same thing, day in and day out. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat. As the water ran down the drain taking with it the last suds, Elsa couldn't help but wish it could take her troubled thoughts along with it.

Looking at scans of a person's brain was completely different from seeing the face that accompanied it. Most of the time, it was easier not to attach a face to the film. Compartmentalization. Every physician's defense against getting too involved in a case, to keep their clinical judgement impartial.  _Right now, some compartmentalization would come in handy_ , Elsa thought sarcastically.  _The one time you choose to have random sex, the first and only time you let yourself go crazy and sleep with a girl, she ends up biting you in the ass - both literally and figuratively._

She couldn't help but find this amusing in a distinctly ironic way.  _God, I'm sick._

_Conceal, don't feel. Don't let it show._

Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the OR.

_Conceal, don't feel. Don't let it show._

She looked up at the galley as she walked towards the instrument table and donned her gown. Summers, no, Anna was looking down over the proceedings, one arm pressed against the glass, her forehead braced against it. Another Resident was standing behind her, rubbing her back.  _Bjorgman, was it?_  She recalled running into him during her patient rounds one time. Good kid. Earnest, responsible. Dependable. Summers was lucky to have him.

Elsa took a deep breath, adjusted the focus on her magnifying glasses, and stepped closer to the operating table. She flexed her fingers, letting snug latex mould to each knuckle and delicate finger. Gauntlets for her battle with the monster in Olaf Snow's head.

_Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let them know._

She held out her hand. Not a single tremor. "Knife."

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsa is introspective.
> 
> Anna goes emo.
> 
> Rapunzel is a secret shipper.

Chapter 2

_There's a stain there's a stain there's a stain on the floor_

_I want to soak want to scrub want to clean it and more_

_But all the nurses are refusing to let me out of bed_

_And my eyes are pouring nightly_

Motion City Soundtrack,  _Delirium_ _  
_

* * *

The waiting is the hardest part.

This seemingly endless waiting in a white room devoid of all warmth, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Anna hated this coldly sterile place, this constant reminder that it was, well, a waiting room. A glorified holding cell where nervous family braced for the worst possible news, rising panic tempered only by a glimmer of hope, a shaky faith that everything would be all right. She fought not to squirm in the hard plastic chair, a shade of blue darker than her rumpled scrubs. Anna yearned for warmth, for the sun to shine on her once more. For Olaf to stroll in, grin that lopsided grin of his, turn the past few hours into a mere nightmare she could wake from.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.  _Nana. Crap._

"Nana? Surgery's over. Olaf's in the Recovery Room."

"How are you?" Oh, Nana. It was just like her to worry about Anna as well.

"I'm - I'm here, nana. Just here."

"I go up there. I get Yuri to drive." Anna blanched. Yuri was Nana's only surviving child. A sour, thin man who had squandered his youth and future away on drink and a succession of get-rich-quick schemes ultimately doomed to failure. He resented his brother's son, more so when Olaf - always a clumsy but loving boy - was accepted into medical school on a full scholarship and was thus able to escape the urban squalor of their neighborhood.

Anna remembered grabby hands, his foul breath and spit on her face as he held her against a wall. His agonized screams while curled up in a miserable ball of quivering drunk flesh after she kneed him in the balls and kicked him repeatedly with boot shod feet. The satisfaction of kicking him in the face, his body, fracturing his nose and three ribs in the process.

He never approached her again after that.

She swallowed, mouth dry. "Yuri's back?"

"No. He somewhere out there doing more stupid. He come home when I tell him."

_Ha. Fat chance of that._

"Alright, Nana. Just let me know when. I'll keep you posted on Olaf. He should be out of the Post Anesthesia Care Unit soon.

"You a good girl, Anna. Always there for my Olaf. We lucky having you."  _No I'm not, Nana. I failed Olaf. I should have seen this happening, anticipated it, but I didn't._

"I'm so sorry, Nana."

"No be sorry. I see you soon."

"See you, Nana."

Anna ended the call, wiped suddenly clammy hands on her coat. Her throat felt like the Sahara had decided to relocate there.  _Where the hell was Kristoff?_  Elbows on knees, Anna's head hung forward as she tried to fight off sleep. The crash from an adrenaline high was more often than not undignified as the human body is turned to an uncoordinated heap of high-strung tissues, a narcoleptic mess barely able to keep itself upright.

_So tired. Just a few minutes. Maybe I could lie down for a bit?_

She slid to the side, stretching out on three of the joined chairs. Uncomfortable, with the edge of one chair digging into her lower back, but she was horizontal and that was better than faceplanting onto the floor.

Losing the fight with exhaustion, she surrendered to sleep.

Not five minutes later, Dr. Elsa Arendelle walked in to update one Anna Summers on Olaf Snow's status, took a look at the sleeping figure, and quietly slipped out of the room. She ignored the catch in her throat at the unbidden memory of waking up two days prior to the same sleeping face, beautiful in repose under the pre-dawn light, before stealing away like a thief. If she felt the same urge to sweep away the wisps of copper hair falling over the other girl's forehead as she did the other day, she gave no indication of it, as she thrust her hands into the pockets of her white coat, nodding at Kristoff Bjorgman as they passed each other in the hall.

* * *

A cold room, the thermostat on low. The mid-afternoon sun was barely able to penetrate the drawn blinds in Dr. Elsa Arendelle's office. As was her preference. Elsa had always been a creature of the cold. Growing up in Maine with summers spent in various Scandinavian countries had given her an immunity to the cold and, in fact, a decided preference for it.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, leaning back into the ergonomic office chair. A dull ache behind her eyeballs signaled what she knew would become a full blown migraine. Not for the first time in the past few days she found her thoughts drifting to Anna Summers. Summers. Five foot five, freckled, funny, a charming drunk, and apparently, a Surgical Resident.  _Jesus. You sure can pick them, Arendelle._

Elsa had never been one to drink, much less drink to excess. Yet for some still unknown reason when she found herself walking into a dive bar called Oaken's to celebrate her newfound freedom and lease on life she did just that. What had started as a search for solitude and the best beer and oysters in Baltimore had turned into a frantic scuffle to get as naked as possible with a woman she had only just met. Things like that rarely ever went well - although this had. Far too well.

There was an unfamiliar urge to stay with this girl the entire day. To spend the next week wrapped up in her embrace, decipher her moans, lazily map out the topography of her body inch by inch using lips and teeth and tongue. In the end common sense prodded along by the ringing of her phone drowned out the demands of her reawakened libido and she hightailed it out of there before the other girl could wake up.  _The call had been important_ , she reasoned out.  _Twenty-five year old Hispanic male, gunshot wou_ nd  _to the head._  The latest victim in a series of turf wars between rival gangs in the city. Good ol' Marsh. He knew she lived for trauma.

She didn't want to imagine the fit he would throw if he knew she had despoiled one of his precious Surgical Residents. Possibly. Maybe. She wasn't certain of anything at all anymore. Not since her world had been ripped apart six months ago. The pieces of her life were still scattered in the wind and she had just begun to chase after them, the first step being the move to Maryland Misericordia from Presbyterian in New York, away from friends, from well-meaning - but ultimately meddling - family, and most of all away from  _him_.

She slid open the right hand drawer of her desk and pulled out a small square box. Inside, the three carat princess cut diamond mounted on a platinum band caught a stray sunbeam, casting a prism of colors. She braced herself for the onslaught of emotion that usually accompanies a betrayal but none would be forthcoming. Not on that first day, not in the succeeding months, and indeed, not now. Nothing but an emptiness that did not ache to be filled.

More than a decade of her life had been devoted in the pursuit to get where she was. Over ten years of medical school, and internship, and residency. A lifetime of near critical exhaustion driven by the adrenaline rush that being brilliant, and perfect and fearless could bring. A certain feeling of infallibility - of godlike genius, of opening up the calvarium and seeing into the brain, pulsating underneath the dura matter, full of life. A life that she was now responsible for. The elation was incomparable. One day her hubris would be the death of her - but that day was not today. Olaf Snow was fine, would continue to be fine. She knew it as a certainty. Snapping the ring box shut, Elsa tossed it back into the drawer and drew out a pack of cigarettes, placing an ashtray in front of her.

"Do you need a light for that," a deep baritone voice rumbled from the doorway. Elsa looked up into the coolly appraising eyes of Marshmallow, grey as a winter's day and just as comforting.

The corners of her lips quirked up into a small smile. "Marsh."

"I figured you'd be brooding here," continued the big man, taking slow steps inside, footfalls muffled by thick carpet. "You always were grumpy after a procedure."

"As opposed to visibly elated?"

"Mmm," murmured Marsh noncommittally. He fished into a deep pocket and pulled out a of pack cigarettes and a silver flint lighter, flicking it open. He lit up a cigarette as he lowered himself into one of the office chairs fronting the aircraft carrier Elsa called her des. Marsh looked closely at his oldest friend from medical school. "Summers is a good kid, Elsa."

"I know. You said so."

"You were a bitch."

"I know. I often am."

He wagged a finger at her. "I beg to differ. You were brought up with impeccable manners. Being petty isn't you."

"I was having a bad day."

"A bad day, huh? Too early for that. What's the matter? Get out the wrong side of the bed?"

A flash of heat, a memory of red hair trailing down her body as its owner dragged her lips over Elsa's more than willing form.  _Deep breaths. Conceal, don't feel, don't let him know._ "In a manner of speaking," she retorted, pushing the ashtray towards Marsh. He reached for it, his huge hand dwarfing the small glass bowl.

"Or maybe you got out of the wrong bed," Marsh snorted. Damn her fair skin. Elsa would not blush. She would not blush. "How was your solo beer and oyster crawl?" Damn him.

_Damn you for being so astute, Marsh._

"It was fine," demurred Elsa, opening up her pack of cigarettes and fishing a stick out, toying with it, buying time. The silence stretched on. She had never been able to hide anything from Marsh.

He tapped the fingers of his left hand on a chair arm, stubbing out his cigarette with the other and lit up another. The sweet smell of the Indonesian brand he favored permeated the office as he puffed contentedly away, blowing smoke rings in the air.

"Barely a couple of weeks in Baltimore and already you're doing random hookups. I won't press you but this better not affect your work."

"It won't," assured Elsa. "It was a one time thing, won't ever happen again."

"Aren't they always?"

"I'm sorry?"  _Did he suspect? Surely he couldn't know. Did Summers - no, that was far too unlikely._

"Random hookups. They're a one time thing, aren't they? Hence the term one night stand."

Relief. He'd make her pay for this later but for now, a reprieve. "It was. Random, I mean. And definitely a one time thing."

"This isn't you, Elsa."

"I ... I know. I'll get my head on straight. Just give me a few more days."

"Half a year is a lot of time. For you, it's an eternity." His fingers dwarfed the cigarette he held in between his index and middle finger, thumb lightly resting on the filter. He took a deep drag.

"Maybe it wasn't enough."

"You've never been one to dwell on the past. Hans was a prick," sneered Marshmallow, exhaling through his nose. "He's still got you upset and now you're screwing around with random people. This isn't you. I've half a mind to fly up to New York and string him up for what he's done."

"Stop. Marsh, you're being incredibly sweet, but really, I'm fine. It's just a rough start to the week. That's all. Hans never even crossed my mind." Which was the truth. She hadn't thought of that feckless gold-digger ever since that fateful afternoon when everything had come crashing down.

He looked unconvinced. "Maybe. I'll see you later?"

"Count on it."

"I'll let Simone know to expect you for dinner, then."

Elsa let out a baek of laughter. "Tell her not to expect too much, though. She's always heaping more food on my plate than I can consume. I swear your wife thinks I'm a half-starved dog."

"She wouldn't be too far off the mark with that one," said Marsh, eyeing her clinically. "You're practically skin and bones."

"Most women would be flattered by that description." That earned her a look of derision from Marsh.

"With your family and that damned face of yours, you could have been a socialite or someone's trophy wife. You could be sitting on the board of some boring symphony or charity trying to pretend you care about the starving and the homeless, giving handouts to hangers-on and asskissers," he said, leaning forwards to tap his index finger on the smooth glass desk for emphasis. "But you're not. You're too damn proud. Too messed up and arrogant to cruise through life on the merits of your looks and your daddy's money. You know you're a smart cookie, Elsa. You also think you're hot shit."

Elsa shifted in her seat, continued to toy with her still unlit cigarette. Marsh knew her too well.

He stood, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette and brushed stray ash from his slacks. "Anyway, I've got to get back to the floor. The Chief wants a word with me regarding that little stunt Summers and DunBroch pulled. Apparently they had to bump off a procedure to accommodate your craniectomy. That procedure bumped off another and so on, and so forth..." He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Everything pretty much snowballed down from there. The OR's backed up for the day. Just came up to look for you, make sure you were settling in fine."

"I'm better than fine. I am, as you say, 'hot shit', after all," she assured him with small grin. "Do I need to go with you, help explain things?" Elsa made to stand as well, but was stayed by the motion of Marsh's hand. She arched her brows in question.

"Sit. This is the scut I have to deal with as Chief Resident. I'm sure you remember your own days as Chief." Elsa mock shuddered as Marsh huffed out a laugh. It sounded like rusted gears turning. "I'll see you later."

Marshmallow slid the glass door shut completely upon exit, cutting off all outside noise. In the tomb-like silence of her office, Elsa Arendelle stared at the small, white cancer stick in her hand, brooding.

What a way to kick off her week.

The migraine never came.

* * *

Sundown on the shores of the Chesapeake. Post-op day five. Olaf's condition steadily improving; still intubated, without eye opening, however with motor response to pain stimulus. Anna was loathe to leave him at the end of each day. Guilt and self recrimination were eating at her, leaving her sleepless at night. Despite the inevitable exhaustion after each shift, she still found herself waking at odd hours and wandering over to Olaf's room. She expected to find him sleeping or lying in bed and reading the latest edition of the American Journal of Psychiatry. His room was untouched, left the same as the day he last ran out of the house. An unmade bed, a plate with sandwich crumbs still on his bedside table, the laptop he always forgot to turn off sat on his desk, long drained of its battery. Dust was already beginning to gather on the keys.

Anna sat on the stoop of their rented rowhouse, chewing on a chocolate bar as she took in the sunset. The sky overhead was a pantone of dusky purples and lavender underscored by fading golden sunlight. She toed at the peeling paint on the wooden steps beneath her sneakered feet, leaning back on an elbow. The smell of fish and chips frying at the chip shop next door tickled her nostrils, making her stomach growl. The harborfront neighborhood of Fell's Point at sundown was readying itself to welcome the night, bars opening and restaurants updating their dinner menu as the little daytime boutiques closed. Anna observed the early evening crowds walking the cobblestone streets, a mix of local and tourist alike. Behind her, she heard the slam of the screen door followed by footsteps on creaky floor boards.

"Hey you," a pierced and dreadlocked brunette called out, dangling a beer in front of Anna's face and moving to sit beside her. Anna reached for it, taking a long swig before holding up the bottle in front of her face. Already it had begun to sweat in the humid night, beads of condensation forming on the artsy print of a moustachioed man doffing a blue cap.

"Thanks, Punzie," said Anna. "This is pretty good. Like coffee and chocolate."

Rapunzel grinned, her kohl-rimmed eyes warm. "It should be. I stole a six-pack of it for you. Eugene's working on their promotion campaign. ROGUE sent like five cartons of Mocha Porter over to his office. The moment I had a sip, I knew this had your name written all over it."

Anna returned her grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. Being cousins, their features were similar enough that they were often mistaken as sisters.

"All for me? Thanks, coz." Anna finished off the candy bar, washing down the sticky remains with her beer.

"Anytime." They sat in companionable silence for the next few minutes. Bits and pieces of conversations made its way to their ears, passersby ignoring the two young, slightly disheveled women lazing about on the steps of a two story wooden house, painted brightly in a multitude of colors.

Rapunzel Kroenig, 'Punzie' to friends and family, was something of a local celebrity. Frontwoman and vocalist for indie group Dead Cat Hole, the band had just released their first EP and already record companies were sniffing around, offering contracts. Rapunzel cultivated an air of stylish disrepute with her dreadlocks and love for skintight leather. Various piercings adorned her pretty face - in photographs it emphasized her striking looks. Tonight, however, she was just another young woman, indistinguishable from any other on a Friday evening. Her horn-rimmed glasses were a subdued change from the normally flamboyant Swarovski crystal-encrusted pair she wore onstage. Anna felt a familiar wave of fondness sweep through her.

"So, how is Flynn," asked Anna, looking up at her cousin.

The brunette grinned. "Same old, same old. Eugene is still the same artful dodger, although these days more artful than dodger."

"Eh, he's doing advertising for a brewing company. That's legit enough. I don't see how it doesn't work out well for everybody - us included," said Anna with a small chuckle, raising her beer in a mock salute.

"For a doctor, you don't have too much respect for your liver."

"Look who's talking, Miss beer bong. On the contrary, it's we doctors who have very little respect for our liver, lungs, etcetera. It must be the easy access to meds," said Anna breezily.

"Oh, I don't doubt you think that," Rapunzel shot back. "You're delusional that way. It's a given constant. Although it's also probably because you're a brute when it comes to your body. Peter Pan, always looking for NeverNeverLand."

"Hey!" protested Anna, poking her cousin's leather-clad thigh with the base of her bottle as the other girl's laughter flowed over both of them like the tinkle of bells. They gazed at each other with the fondness forged out of shared experience and longstanding emotional bonds, blood ties notwithstanding. Anna's first memory was of Punzie's hand holding hers when she tripped on an uneven patch of sidewalk. Rapunzel's first memory was leaning over a bassinet and touching the cheeks of baby Anna, making her gurgle and coo.

"I'm glad you're home," Rapunzel said softly, laying a hand on Anna's arm.

"You've hardly left Olaf's room since the surgery."

Anna winced. "Not true. I'm a Resident. I'm pretty sure that the reason they call us Residents is they expect us to  _live_  in the hospital," she said grumpily.

Rapunzel raised a pierced eyebrow. "It's been a week, Anna. I used to be able to have dinner with you once every few days. Now I'm lucky if I see you for five seconds as you run out the house." A look of concern marred her pretty face.

Anna sighed and slumped back, her head lying on the topmost step. "I'm just having a rough week, Punz. Things will even out, soon," she promised. "I just need for Olaf to be fine. I owe him that."

"Anna, I know he's your best friend - I mean, he's our friend, too - but aren't you blaming yourself too much for this? It wasn't as if you could have done anything about it," said Rapunzel carefully. "We all found out about the fight at the same time. You ran to the hospital as soon as we told you. Heck, you didn't even shower. Talk about the walking dead. Phew," she added, crinkling her nose, trying to make Anna laugh - and failing.

"That's just it, Punz," said Anna softly. "I should have been there for him."

"How?"

Anne turned to look at the other girl, guilt gnawing at her. "I was with him that night," she bit out. "I left him alone at that bar."

"What? Why?" Rapunzel's eyes were wide open, mouth agape. A piercing on her lower lip glinted in the light from a street lamp.

Anna turned away, unable to meet her cousin's eyes. "A girl," she muttered under her breath. She didn't think it was possible for anybody's eyes to be as wide as Punz's, but they were. "Close your mouth, Punzie, it's not a good look on you," she groused irritably. "Are you trying to catch mosquitoes or something?"

Rapunzel shook her head, dreadlocks flying every which way, recovering lost composure. "Um, sorry. Uh, so... A girl?"

"Yeah, a girl."

"Um. Wow. A girl. I didn't know you were seeing anyone, Anna. But uh, a girl. Yeah, wow. Uh, is she anybody we know? Will we get to meet her, soon?"

Anna let out a bark of bitter laughter. "That's just it, Punz. I don't know who she was."

"Wait, what?" The slack-jawed look was back. Punzy should do something about that. It really was unattractive on her. "How could you not know who you're dating?"

"It wasn't a date, exactly," admitted Anna. She took a swig of her beer, polishing of the last few ounces. "It was more of a wummammufmmfffm," she mumbled into the bottle lip, looking anywhere but at Rapunzel.

"Say what?"

"It was more of a one time thing."

"Okay, I'm confused."

"Stop playing dim, Punzie. I slept with someone I met at a bar, alright," Anna blurted out. "Did you really need to make me spell it out? I was drunk, she was hot. While we did the dirty, Olaf got brained. When I woke up, she was gone. Need I say more? Do you want me to get graphic?"

"What? No. Of course not. That was plenty graphic enough. I think you scarred my brain," Rapunzel quickly replied. "I'm sorry for digressing, but if you don't remember her, how do you even know she's hot?"

"Could you imagine me with any other type?" She gave Rapunzel a scornful look.

"Snob. That's why they call it beer goggles. As in a person's attractiveness is directly proportional to the amount of alcohol imbibed."

"Maybe to you," Anna sniffed. "But she was beautiful. I don't remember much. I mean, I sort of think I do remember something. Just little bits and pieces, like we were laughing a lot, and that she smelled really, really good. I think I remember that her hands were soft, but strong, and this may sound weird, but when she kissed me, my brain just flatlined. And the sex was fantastic."

"So fantastic you can't remember who this phantom lover of yours was. Must have been positively  _electric_  to have fried your brain," Rapunzel said.

"Punzie, if I knew who she was, I'd be all over her like beans on toast."

"Yeah," Rapunzel drew the word out slowly. "This faceless girl you met at a bar. Who screwed you and left you without even a goodbye post-it."

"Why is this even bothering you so much? Is it because I slept with a girl?" Anna demanded defensively.

"No! I mean, definitely not for the reasons you're thinking right now." Rapunzel held out a steadying hand. "It's nothing to do with you sleeping with girls," she continued. "It didn't bother me before and it certainly doesn't bother me now. You can even go for animal, vegetable, or mineral, as long as it makes you happy. I just already hate her on principle. She slept with my cousin and didn't even have the common decency to say goodbye. If you weren't you, I'd say it sounds a lot like date rape to me. But that isn't even the point right now," she paused, steeling herself for the rest of what she had to say. "Anna, do you know that Kristoff's in love with you?"

Anna said nothing. She couldn't - her snark deserted her. It was precisely this conversation she had been trying to avoid for the past five years or so. This dancing around the topic had been happening since medical school, ever since Anna had brought the big blonde home as a potential housemate. Rapunzel and Eugene had taken one look at the pair - and correctly surmised - that this gentle giant with his soft, Midwestern drawl, and unassuming, stolid countenance, was quite possibly on his way to being head over heels for Anna Summers. Anna, of course, chose to remain purposefully oblivious of Kristoff's beginning affections. He was her friend. He was the funny classmate who offered to carry her enormous textbooks. He was the buddy who saved her a seat during lunch and made sure she always had a partner during paired coursework. Her hero who peeled the skin off frogs in freshman Physiology because she couldn't stop freaking out at the feel of the cool green skin despite her thin latex gloves. He was everything she should have wanted in a boyfriend.

Except Anna didn't think of  _Kristoff_  that way. It was just... _wrong_. He was so firmly entrenched in her best friend compartment that she never even gave thought to him being a possible romantic interest. Her feelings for him were entirely platonic.

Anna chose the coward's way out by feigning affront, her tone one of indignance. "What the hell kind of drugs are you on these days, Punzie? Kristoff's like a brother to me. That's practically  _incest_. You don't fall in love with your brother. It's like a violation of the bro code or something." She finished disgustedly.

"Yeah, that's the problem," said Rapunzel, a hint of sadness in her voice. "He's your bro. Always has been."

"Exactly," Anna firmly replied. "He's my bro. End of story. You don't mess around with your bro."

"If you say so, Anna."

"Damn right I say so. Can we talk about something else?" asked Anna wanting to talk about anything but the thought of Kristoff and her as a couple.  _It just doesn't compute. Why can't they see that?_

Rapunzel stood up, taking with her the now empty bottles of beer. "Tell you what, Anna. Eugene, Kristoff and I are going over to Oaken's. It's a Friday. We should at least try to kick the weekend off with some fun," she offered, turning to look at her cousin when no answer was forthcoming. What she saw made her breath catch.

Anna looked like she'd been slapped. "The last time I went to Oaken's, Olaf ended up in a coma," she said quietly, getting up and steadying herself on a rail. The sick feeling in her stomach was back.

"Oh my god, Anna! I'm so sorry," a horrified Rapunzel cried out in a rush, reaching for Anna. "I wasn't thinking. I was so used to us going..." she trailed off mid explanation, acknowledging the futility of it, her extended hand dropped to hang limply by her side.

"No, you don't have to explain. I'm just in a weird place right now," said Anna, walking back inside, leaving the other girl staring after her.

She left the house half an hour later, deciding to spend the night in the hospital. By the time she came out of her room, Punzie and the boys were gone. As she strode across the cobblestone street to where her motorcycle was parked, a cool wind blew across the bay, tousling her fine copper hair. Anna swung one leg over the seat, zipping up her leather jacket before kickstarting the ignition. Fastening the chin strap of her helmet with one hand, she gunned the throttle with the other, pushing off to speed away into the night.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my beta, the awesome Yumi Michiyo who puts up with my random brainfarts, ramblings, and run-on sentences.
> 
> Edgefire, my starlit skye, thirteen years on and you're still my sounding board. I would dedicate this chapter to you but I know the pairing freaks you out.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm not normally one for author notes, but I would like to thank yumi michiyo, beta reader and cheerleader extraordinaire. Without her mad skillz this fic would be nothing but a steaming pile of dung. Now go read the masterpiece that is The Nighthawks. Run, don't walk.
> 
> Also, hmselsanna for allowing me to use the names she created for her characters, specifically, Anna Summers.
> 
> And last, but not least, Requ. If I had never read A Formal Arrangment, I would never have been compelled to write once more. Thank you.
> 
> tumblr: apocketfulofwry


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